I scream: For ice cream

May 17, 2014

I was forced to wake up earlier than I would have liked, which was mostly because I was sleeping on the breakfast table. One could consider this a slight flaw in the design, although it certainly gave a new meaning to the idea of breakfast in bed.

After I said my thank-yous and continued I was still very tired and I was still going into a headwind and there were still too many people. I was constantly being whistled at and shouted at. "Atkuda? Atkuda? Atkuda?" came the cries. "Anglia! Anglia! Anglia!" came my ever more frustrated response. Now, please don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I didn't want to meet anyone in Uzbekistan, it was just that I didn't want to meet everyone in Uzbekistan. And as if the people weren't enough, there was the traffic. I honestly didn't believe the horn beeping could get worse but Uzbekistan had taken it to a whole new level. Even worse still were the cars that slowed down only so that the occupants could stare slack-jawed out of the windows at the stressed-out tourist. Thoughts of quitting the whole trip, of getting on a plane and leaving this all behind, entered my head for the first time. It was too hot, it was too difficult, I was too tired, the beeping, the constant beeping, I was seriously getting a stress-head on. "Atkuda? Atkuda? Atkuda?" "Shut-up! Shut-up! SHUT-UP!"

Although there were some good dual carriageways, one had to be constantly wary of vehicles going the wrong way on the shoulder

On a less good road the cars played a game of 'Pothole-Slalom-Extreme'

I'm not joking when I tell you that the only way that I made it through these days was with ice cream. Uzbekistan ice cream, and I don't think it is too much of an exaggeration to say this, saved me from a nervous breakdown. Uzbekistan ice cream saved the whole trip. Every little mini-market shop had a freezer, and in every freezer one could find these cheap ice creams, a whole wafer cone filled with a generous amount of ice cream for the incredible price of ten euro cents. I got through the hottest parts of the days by stopping and sitting in the shade and eating one pretty much every half an hour. When I was eating these ice creams I could even just about tolerate the dreaded "Atkuda?"

I was able to tolerate the kids questions more than the adults. They could speak some English

But late one day I stopped to take a break on a rock overlooking a field and I watched the women working. It was a common sight in Uzbekistan - the huge field was dotted with women, dressed from head to toe as protection against the sun and the wind, bent over, sowing the field by hand. Throughout the country I had seen this, women doing all the work, ploughing by hand, sowing by hand, everything by hand. And it was all women, the men seemingly doing very little besides standing around at the side of the road and annoying cyclists. I saw the women out in the fields when I started cycling first thing in the morning and I saw them at sunset. All day they toiled, and presumably then they had to go home and make the dinner. Yet whenever I saw them or had any interaction with them, they had nothing but smiles. Compared with their lives I realised that my own entirely self-inflicted 'suffering' paled into insignificance and I was humbled. A man walked over to me. "Atkuda?!" he cried. "Anglia," I said, "and I'm very pleased to be here."

Today's ride: 91 km (57 miles)
Total: 19,486 km (12,101 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	5
Comment on this entry	Comment	0